


Make it Go Away

by starmelee



Series: Overwatch [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A little angst, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Phantom pain, Sad bois, sad mccree gets a sad hanzo to cheer him up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starmelee/pseuds/starmelee
Summary: Jesse McCree had never been very good at handling his own problems in a good way. When it comes to his past, he handles every memory worse than before.In which pain both physical and emotional drag him backwards, and it takes a glimpse of starlight to bring him forward.





	Make it Go Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a small project I wanted to do in the midst of a bigger idea. I have a huge McHanzo kick right now, so I'm about 11,000 words into a planned 30,000 word fic, so if you like this then be on the lookout!
> 
> Also, I'm sorry my ending is so lazy I got very tired at the end of this and just threw something in there.

      Jesse huffed out a sigh the minute the door closed behind him, his chest sinking so much he almost thought it caved in. Maybe the stress of the day had just filled him up so much that its absence was too sudden for his body to handle and he was imploding. Better yet, maybe holding his breath for two minutes wasn’t the best idea. Regardless of any of those potential reasons, he was in his room and relieved and that was all he could ask for.

      The pain emanating from his neck had been killing him all day. He’d almost passed out while doing a stakeout, and had almost missed a shot in battle because he was dizzy. It had been a struggle to make it back to Gibraltar, to give his report, and then to stumble down to his quarters below the main base. His door was the last in the hallway, and his area was relatively small, but he had his own bathroom and his own hot plate. In reality, it was a three room apartment. A bedroom, a very tiny living room, and a bathroom. It was compact, and in that way it was perfect. In that way it could also be suffocating, like it was just then.

      With the implosion of his chest came the pressure of anxiety, coupled with the nausea from the pain at the back of his neck. He was also feeling immensely claustrophobic, but he couldn’t bring himself to face anyone so going upstairs was out of the question.

      Jesse sank to the floor, still in front of his door, and curled in on himself. He let out a choked sob, then another, and it continued until he was crying so hard his face was hurting. At least it was a distraction from the phantom pain, though it was nothing compared to it. He ripped Peacekeeper from his belt and placed the gun by his side, the promptly laid down next to it. His prosthetic pressed into his side, and pain laced his left arm with intensity that he rarely felt.

      Apparently that day was the one he was meant to suffer most.

      His sobbing grew worse as he removed the damn thing, throwing it across his living room. His intention was to throw it at the couch, but the metal limb sailed right over, landing by his bedroom door instead. Whatever, he reasoned, he didn’t care anyway.

      Laying back down on the floor, he realized this was all he was. A pathetic man who was falling apart right in front of his own eyes. He was having an anxiety attack, probably some form of a ptsd issue, and he was experiencing claustrophobia all at once. His stump of an arm only drew him deeper into grief over his past, which only made his neck hurt more. In extension that only increased his anxiety, which reminded him of his claustrophobia.

      What a cycle.

      He touched the back of his neck with a shaky hand, feeling the raised skin that formed the mark of the Deadlock gang. They’d branded him with the intention of reminding him of who he belonged to, yet it only served to remind him of what he once had been. How many lives had he taken, as a child? How many sins did he commit to make him deserve so much pain? Jesse decided that it had to be so many more than he remembered. He’d always strived to remember every face, as many names as he could. The mark burned in hs skin reminded him he could never make up for it. It also reminded him of the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life.

      Fresh tears sprung up as he dragged his fingers across the aching skin, then he moved his hand to the stump of a left arm he still carried. The flesh was scarred, and it also throbbed with an old, yet seemingly fresh pain. Sobs shook him once again. He couldn’t take it anymore.

      Jesse stood up, stumbling into his bedroom. He’d almost tripped on his prosthetic but managed to step over it without incident. He then pulled a box from under his bed and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Usually he drank sparingly, but he had no medication in his room, and he just needed something, _anything_ , to help the pain.

      He drank until he forgot what pain even was. He drank until the bottle was empty and he passed out on top of his covers, still fully dressed.

      The next morning, Jesse McCree woke up with one of the worst hangovers he’d ever known in his life. Which, in itself was impressive because he’d experienced some pretty terrible hangovers. With a groan, he rubbed his face and stumbled into his bathroom. Looking himself in the mirror, he realized two things;

  1. He looked horrible. He’d need sunglasses.
  2. His head hurt almost as bad as the rest of him had the previous night. He needed some aspirin and at least three glasses of water.



      He couldn’t even remember if he owned a pair of sunglasses, but a quick look through his bedside drawer showed him that he did. So, he pissed, he showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed in some clean clothes, and put the shades on. His serape was adjusted to cover his neck, his prosthetic was fastened into place, and the hat he hadn’t even noticed was discarded was placed back on his head. He needed to smile through the day, do whatever jobs he had to, and make it home in one piece.

      That wouldn’t be too hard, he thought as he closed his door behind him and started walking down the hall. And it wasn’t. Anyone who asked about the glasses got a talk about how cool they were, anyone who wanted to spar with him got a spiel about how he was too tired for it, and Winston gave him a quick in-and-out reconnaissance. It was blissful, besides the headache that wouldn’t go away. And he was home in time for dinner with Lena and Genji, who made a habit of playing stupid games as they ate. Hanzo was also there, but he was quiet. Every once in awhile Jesse could have sworn he caught the man giving him looks, but he said nothing.

      After that, he excused himself and shut himself up in his room, letting out a similar sigh to the one he had the day before. Except his normal routine of being depressed and moping around was interrupted by a swift round of knocks on his door.

      Jesse ran a hand through his hair and put the glasses on again, flicking on his light so it wouldn’t look too weird. He then opened the door and leaned in the frame to prevent showing off the utter empty booze bottle-filled disaster that his apartment was.

      Remember when he said he only drank sometimes? That was in reference to the good stuff. Cheap beer and wines? Well, let’s just say Jesse McCree hadn’t had a sober night on base in a long time.

      “What can I do ya for?” He chimed at Hanzo, who, surprisingly, was standing at his door.

      “May I come in, Jesse?” His colleague looked like he had something on his mind, but Jesse really couldn’t…

      “Sorry, Hanzo, but the place ain’t exactly up to par with what I expect a clean, ninja-lord like yourself to be used to. I could clean and you could come back in half an hour?” Just to give him time to prepare for whatever this was going to be.

      “As much as I doubt its that bad,” the man paused, as if to carefully think over what to say next, “I suppose I could do that. I will return in half an hour, but once I’m here we have things to discuss.”

      Jesse closed the door with a sigh once Hanzo had turned and left. Swiftly, he grabbed a trash bag and threw all the cans and bottles away, sending them down the trash chute that every room in Gibraltar apparently had. He made his bed, tucked his whiskey stache back away, and vacuumed the living room, as well as the couches. He sprayed everything with air freshener, and prayed the place looked and smelled decent enough because it was twenty-five minutes later. Five minutes to mentally prepare himself. Excellent.

      Hanzo, true to his promise, returned exactly thirty minutes later, the knock at Jesse’s door filling the man with fear. Of course, Jesse still opened the door and welcomed him in with a smile, closing the door behind his guest and taking a seat on the recliner next to his loveseat.

      “Take a seat, if you like. What’s got you visiting the humble space of this cowboy?”

      Hanzo reminded silent for a few moments, scrutinizing the space around him with the eyes of someone who was clearly looking for something. The ninja then returned his gaze to Jesse, the look in his eyes intense.

      “Are you alright? I- I heard you last night. I didn’t want to disturb you, in case you didn’t wish to have company at that time, but you were clearly distressed. I wanted to check in and make sure that-”

      Jesse’s expressed alarm clearly cut him off, because he suddenly stopped. Jesse had no idea what to say. Someone caught him in a moment of intense weakness, whether or not they saw it. He was a crybaby, and knowing that personally was bad enough, but someone else, especially _Hanzo_ knowing that? His chest collapsed on itself again.

      In an attempt to laugh it off, he chuckled and waved his hand, “It’s perfectly fine, I uh- I was just having an issue. Kind of drunk, maybe I was crying about horses or somethin’. Genji says that I do that sometimes.”

      This excuse only seemed to make Hanzo upset. “Jesse, I know better. You know I know better. I… I’ve never heard a more heartbreaking sound in my life, if you must know. You were very distressed, extremely stressed out. Yesterday you were all over the place. Angela almost came to see you herself. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

      Of course, the two men had grown rather close over the two years they’d known each other, but for Hanzo to so quickly dismiss his excuse was incredible. And the way he described Jesse’s breakdown… the man didn’t know how to respond.

      “I… listen Hanzo, yesterday was just a mighty bad day. I uh, I was experiencing a lot of pain, and I just lost my mind a tad bit. I swear I’m okay though-”

      “Jesse, that’s bullshit. Pardon me, both my language and my intrusion, but you need to stop this. I can smell the alcohol on you. Sometimes it’s so strong I wonder how you’re walking straight. This isn’t healthy. Trust me, I know just as well as anyone can.” Jesse recalled Genji telling him of Hanzo’s drinking problems when they’d first recruited him, and a pang of guilt raced through him.

      “I’m sorry, Hanzo. Sometimes it’s just-” he wiped his eyes as he felt the tears come to them, “it’s so hard. All I can think about is the faces of the people I’ve killed. What I’ve done. Hanzo I’ve killed fathers, mothers, I killed kids that were my own age. I- I’m mighty damaged. And I can never forget it because they marked me, Hanzo. They _marked_ me. How am I supposed to move on when it’s engraved in my own flesh?”

      It seemed they were both surprised by his outburst, but Hanzo stood up and knelt in front of Jesse anyway.

      “Not all of us can have pasts that we are proud of. What matters is that we seek redemption in the eyes of those who have fallen to our hands. You, Jesse McCree, are a kind and intelligent man. You must realize that your past does not define your present, nor does it sculpt your future. Your wishes do that for you, and now you must discover what those wishes are.”

      Jesse felt a cold hand reach up and gingerly touch his cheek, wiping away the tears.

      “I have faith that you can make the most of your life, and that you have already made up for the past that you lament so heavily.”

      Jesse felt himself sob, and he fell forward onto Hanzo’s shoulder. Shame flashed in his mind, but he pushed the feeling back. He needed this right now. He could feel ashamed later. To his surprise, Hanzo engulfed him in a comfortable hug, asking if he was okay with it and just sitting there as Jesse cried.

      Once it was over, Hanzo asked Jesse if he wanted him to stay with him. Jesse nodded, and dragged him into his bedroom, where they both laid down and sat together in silence until they each fell asleep.

      The next time Jesse felt the darkness creeping in, he knocked on the door next to his own, and asked if Hanzo could shed some starlight on him once again. 


End file.
